


House Rules

by Romany



Category: Angel: the Series
Genre: Episode: s05e14 Smile Time, Implied Relationships, M/M, no puppet!porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-03-08
Updated: 2005-03-08
Packaged: 2018-02-03 22:14:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1758303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Romany/pseuds/Romany
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Spike calls Angel twee. Things go down from there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	House Rules

“What on earth possessed you to cram raspberry jam into that puppet mouth of yours?” Spike said while he had his hand and a flannel inside said puppet mouth. “Sit still! Can’t get it out if you squirm!”

“Mxxxphlrlaghph,” Angel said. 

Bemused, Spike said, “How’s that?” But he kept on scrubbing. Finally, he finished. Pulling back he grinned, “Well, aren’t you just the most twee thing?”

One felt little fist landed straight on Spike’s nose. Angel stood his imposing three feet on the couch. “I am *not* twee!” And the fuzzy beetle brows came together, “Whatever the fuck that is. How long’ve you been off the boat?”

Spike rubbed his nose. “Least I stay true to my heritage. Not ashamed of where I come from, I can tell you.” Ow. The mad muppet could pack a punch.

Angel jumped off the couch, padded over to a chair and tried to hop on. “Like that accent’s real, Spike. Whatever.” Angel made one more attempt and failed.

“Steam! Actually saw steam come out your ears!” Spike pointed at Angel, laughed. And indeed there was steam coming out of his ears.

Angel whirled around and leapt on top of Spike back on the couch. “You know, you can just leave, Spike. I *don’t* need the soundtrack.”

Spike merely patted him on the head, “And who would tend to your needs then?”

Angel’s nose wiggled. “Now that’s just sick, Spike. Even for you.” And he rolled off of Spike and sat on the other end of the couch.

Spike rolled his eyes and said, “Don’t worry, Angel, not about to violate your puppethood.” He then slumped a bit into the duster and muttered, “Just meant doing for you. Helping you about the flat and all.” He looked away.

“I’m touched, Spike, I really am,” Angel scoffed. But then he shifted , moved slightly closer to Spike.

“Never answered the question.” Spike waved the red-stained flannel about. “What on earth possessed you?”

Now it was Angel’s turn to look away. “I was trying to eat. Seemed like a good idea at the time.” His plastic eyes stared at his vinyl shoes. “I was on a date.”

Spike said quietly, “Yeah, heard about that.” He reached for the remote and turned on SkySports News. Watched all the box scores for the Premiership before saying a little too jovially, “She’s got some big ones, yeah? A man could get a firm grip on those.”

Angel slid off the couch, padded across to the big screen, pushed the power button with his stubby finger. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what, Angel? Have a conversation while I’m catching up on footie? We’re mates, yeah?” Spike shifted a bit on the couch, spread his legs a bit more. “Tell you what, I’ll go get a beer while you practice your Bert and Ernie impression.” And with that, Spike strode off towards the refrigerator with Angel trailing behind him.

“I told you this thing with us wasn’t a thing. This thing, it’s not a thing, Spike.”

Spike stood up, slammed the refrigerator door shut, twisted off the top and chugged the whole beer down. He turned around and pointed the empty bottle at Angel. “Oh make some fucking sense, would you? Thing. Buggering hell. Could you butcher the English language any more?” He slammed the empty on the counter and got another one from the refrigerator.

“See this?” He wiggled the beer bottle slightly. “You don’t drink beer, Angel. Why do you keep this in there, then? Either we’re mates or we’re something else.” He twisted the top off and said, “So we’re either going in there to watch some sport and talk about Wolfgirl’s tits or we’re going to admit that we shag.”

Angel looked up at him with bright polypropylene eyes, “Look, I’m not gonna feel guilty about this. She’s human, Spike. It’s different. I have a chance for something here.”

Spike took an angry swig and stomped past Angel. “Can’t believe I’m having this conversation with a toy!” And with that he plopped himself back on the couch, picked up the remote, and turned the big screen back on.

Angel padded back in the living area. “I don’t have to explain anything to you. You've got your car so why don't you just go home?” He paused, rubbed his face. "Bike..." His nose had come away with his hands; he sighed and put it back on. "Spike, I mean it. Go home."

Spike leaned forward and roared over the football crowd, “She’s not human, you twit! She’s a fucking dog!”

Angel leaned his plush hair against the door frame. “She’s more human than you.”

Spike grinned, took a slow swig, “Well, I'm more human than you, Angel. And that’s God’s truth.” He gestured with the bottle. “You’re the biggest monster of us all, yeah? Trying to crawl up some human’s skin to feel more like them? Is that how you’re going to do it, Pinnochio? Is that how you’re going to become real?”

Angel inched forward, his felt fangs obviously itching to come down. “My house, Spike. My rules.”

“Got any besides, ‘Spread’em a bit wider, Spike.’?”

Angel padded closer, “Spike...”

“So throw me over if you’re going to throw me over, Angel. Or fuck us both. Could give a fuck which it is. But you best decide right quick. Won’t stand the not knowing again. Won’t stand for it.” And then he turned up the volume on the game.

Angel flew forward and ripped the remote out of his hands, “For the last time, why don’t you take your childish, jealous crap home?”

Spike refused to look at that lipless mouth hovering above him. Ignoring the negligible weight on him, he pointedly stared at the screen. “I'm watching the game. Why don’t you leave off?”

Angel slid off the couch again, “Fine. I’ll just go to my room. Turn off the tv when you leave.”

Spike shot back angrily, “Fine! I will!”

Well, Spike watched that match and the next and the next. Drank the rest of the beer. Looked for a hint of a puppet shadow near the bedroom door. Must’ve been knackered because, fuck, if he didn’t end up kipping on that couch.

When he woke up early the next day, he found a wee little puppet man, fast asleep, in his arms.


End file.
